


We Who Run

by primdise



Series: Primal Paradise [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: End of the World, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Fluff and Angst, George's POV, Getting to Know Each Other, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Lots of conversations, M/M, Opposites Attract, Pseudoscience, Strangers to Lovers, Virtual Reality, a story of a word more than that, lmao bye, lots of, name truthing, no beta we die like everybody else in this story, they are in love and they are going to die, this is a story about love, 浮世
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primdise/pseuds/primdise
Summary: NEWS FLASH : College Pretty Boy Tries Online Dating for the First Time! Also, The World Ends in Five Minutes! Can He and Mystery Boy Be Able to Meet Up? Find Out More By Clicking The Link Below!or;Dream and George meet in a virtual city frozen through time, just five minutes before the world ends.George is a nihilist. Dream is a visionary. Somehow, they meet in the middle and fall in love in between the hanging seconds.Will they be able to meet in real life, too?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Primal Paradise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154585
Comments: 66
Kudos: 86





	1. -2

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic in this fandom and ship. this is my first creative writing work for the first time in three years. this is a story that has a special place in my heart, a milestone, a catharsis. its rough, unplanned, unbeta'd, unedited, all that. id tell you all about it, but i guess thats in the future if i ever reach another certain milestone. for now, i am sharing with you the rawest parts of my soul. this was a release. a story written for the author them self, but if this fic has made you feel even an inkling of what the story wants you to feel, please let me know in the comments. 
> 
> i hope you like it :}
> 
> ps. i wrote all this in one go, and it was supposed to be a one-shot, but i got carried away, and it went to 17k so i split it into three then published all of it in the same day so you could take a break between chapters if you wanted to but its here for you to pick up right away

_352_

**Here’s the story everybody knows:**

The world is coming to an end. It is not _ending,_ but going to _end_ . Finishing a word with ‘ _-ing’_ means it’s progressive. The end isn’t like that. It’s not a process. A state, perhaps someone might say.

The world is coming to an end but not in the way we would have expected it. It is not by an asteroid wiping off the face of the Earth nor a deadly disease causing a worldwide pandemic, nor a zombie outbreak nor nuclear war. It isn’t by a great flood or some divine intervention that stems from thousands of versions of the apocalypse. The cause is so simple. So simple yet so vital.

It begins in New York. The city that never sleeps comes to a sudden stop, a pause button hits mid-movie. Spilled coffee suspended mid-air, hair flying turned frozen, the bustling buzz of the city turned mum, the wind non-existent, the sea quiet for the first time since eternity.

Scientists call it The Deconstruction. 

Researchers have said that they detected activity from space, impossibly high-frequency electromagnetic waves that come from a place beyond human discovery, that releases an element bound to eliminate the foundation of Earth's life and legacy. 

A negation element for oxygen. 

To put it simply, in a limited amount of time, the world is gonna crumble. The air will be suspended as everything we know turns to dust. A one-second rot, as they call it. 

After scientists detected the anomaly, it was already too late. There was no time to release such news to the world. Estimates show that there were approximately 6 minutes (352 seconds to be exact) till the effects instantaneously took over the world. 

They needed to act fast and they needed to act now. 

So they launched a secretly but heavily funded project of the United Nations without asking permission from the authorities. Because what is the law if the world is ending— ah, going to end.

To be frank, people didn't know all this information until they were in Primdise. 

One second they were living their daily lives, unaware of their dawning extinction, the next, time seems to stop, and then they're in a virtual city where everyone is dreaming and everything is a dream come true.

_301_

Primal Paradise, _Primdise_ as people have taken to call it, is a virtually simulated city designed for people to have an alternative life online. But now, it has been taken as a refuge. A safe house. It hadn't been publicly explained how the minds of people had been transferred into a singular running algorithm, nor how they made it seem like the whole world came to a stop, but people stopped questioning it once they realize that they are literally in paradise.

Primdise, where everything is for everyone. _In Primdise, we know! All you ever want in a simple click! Thanks to the Code, you can go live your dreams now!_ is what it’s advertised as.

A place programmed so that everyone has everything they want to have and where everything you need to know can be found, as long as it gives you and allows you what you want to do that isn't possible during the last five minutes. A month of total bliss.

Sounds like paradise, right? 

A catch, of course, is existing. 

The condition is you can't meet anyone who is an important part of your life. Family, friends, lovers, pets even. It's not like it's a declared law and the opportunity to break it is possible. 

No. You literally _cannot_ meet them because they belong on a different server. Primdise is thousands, if not millions, of different servers coexisting in one huge virtual city.

People know everything about themselves except the names and the faces of people most important to them. In Primdise, you know whether you have your people or not, but the names and the faces are obscured. This is to prevent trying to change servers and meet them. 

This is to prevent from going against the Code.

**Here's how it goes for George:**

The world never ends. Something else does.

He was kinda glad that the world was going to end. Because it wasn't. 

It's _humanity_ that will cease to exist, George had learned during one of his major life epiphanies. 

Maybe humanity will die and the Earth will be ruined along with the remains of what once was. But it will remain in its place amidst the universe and the stars.

And, hopefully, it can start anew.   
  


_Dream_ , a boy George got to know, doesn’t think so.

He wanted to change the world, he said. Leave an impact. It’s a pity that he was too late though. That the universe took the matter into its own hands because it’s only known inhabitants, humans are, for the lack of better word, stupid. Foolish. Selfish.

George thinks he’s an existentialist.

Dream says that they’re opposites, then.

**Here’s how they met:**

George for the past few days ever since being transported to Primdise had been going to the Museum Hub. It’s a place he accidentally came across during the first day he went sightseeing around the city.

So far, there were a lot of attractions that are bustling with user avatars; a casino, a brothel, a cathedral, a spa, a theater, an amusement park, a stadium, a bar— but none of those made George want to go in and indulge. 

Sex, money, religion, pleasure, entertainment, leisure, luxury— he wasn’t really obsessed with any of those. He led a simple life; dreamt a simple dream. He wasn’t the type to lose himself in such deranging vices.

What caught his attention was the building in between the theater and the cathedral. It was a museum from the outside, and actually built as such. But inside the Museum Hub, rather than artworks and artifacts, it is filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of rooms projecting different virtually simulated places of the real world.

George on the first day, went to the United States of America section, seeked out New York City, pinned down Manhattan, and has been coming back ever since then.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Brighton, his hometown. But something about the warmth of New York City and his transferred university of NYU beckons him towards the places. He’s been here for a while, four years into his Computer Science degree, and despite not remembering their names, he knows he has got a solid group of friends who love him so. George may not have hope for humanity as a whole to begin with, but when it all ends, he knows he’ll miss them bad.

It’s around the eighth day of coming back to the hub that he notices the boy from the next room. 

The building’s infrastructure is like this: it’s a hundred rooms lined up by tens in ten symmetrical hallways all meeting at the center, like two giant starfishes overlapping each other. Each floor contains a continent, and each hallway contains a major country. The North America section is at the first floor, being the center of civilization, New York at the third hallway from the entrance. Each hallway is lined with empty rooms next to each other. Each room doesn’t have a door or a fourth wall, leaving the wall facing the hallway to be open. It has a sleek panel lining the podium in front, in which you can control what part of the country you wish to go to. Everything from then on is simulated to look like the real one from the real world. (It’s kinda like Google Maps meet Virtual Reality, George vaguely recalls.)

The boy from the room beside the one George had taken to continuously occupy (Room 1030, so the other boy is in 1031) goes almost to all of the same places George keeps on visiting. 

The library he often studies at. The coffee shop he and his best friend always frequents. The hallways of his lecture rooms. The chess club room he came by sometimes to pick up some of his friends.

And it piques George’s interest, of course. Because how can someone who almost breathes the same air George had been breathing for the past four years be in the same server as him?

How can they not have met, even once?

He watches the guy indulge in the same places for a couple more days before he crosses the separation from his room’s podium to the other’s and taps the boy lightly on the shoulder.

The guy, clearly surprised, turns around to face George, but to no avail, he cannot see him clearly because he is still wearing the gear for MH. 

“What the-- oh, right. Let me remove--” The guy seems to talk to himself before whirring around again to remove the glasses and the headset. He ruffles his dirty blonde hair before fully facing George.

“Hey?” the guy says again, tilting his head in confusion.

The grass green eyes George had suspected the boy possesses seems brighter up-close. 

“Uh, right. Hey!” George waves his hand in some sort of an awkward greeting but the other guy mirrors it confidently, albeit confused.

“Hey?” The guy repeats, uncertainly but not unwelcomingly.

“Yeah, sorry for approaching-” the guy shakes his head, -”but I just noticed that we both go to almost the same places.” 

George looks at the guy who turned quiet.

“The library, you know…. and stuff.” He finished weakly, but the other just stared at George for a while.

“Right! Hah, yeah, sorry, I probably seem like a creep so I’ll just go and-” He’s about to turn around but the other guy shakes his head and speaks up.

“Oh wait, no! Sorry, please don’t go so suddenly. It’s just that in my week’s stay here, it’s the first time someone approached me for that, since you can’t meet people who you’ve met in real life before, right? And that’s saying a lot because I’m the least shy person so I’ve known many people. NYU, then?”

“Yeah!” George beams at that, feeling giddy at meeting someone who suddenly seems so familiar.

“I’m George! A fourth year in Computer Science.” He continues, the other guy probably waiting for him to introduce himself.

“What? No way! I’m a Computer Science major as well.” The guy chuckles incredulously, extending his hand towards George.

“Wait, really?” George looks the guy up and down, taking in his yellow hoodie and jeans, then back to his dirty blonde hair and his green eyes, trying to remember if he ever came across such a person.

“Yeah! My name’s Dream. I’m a sophomore!”

George shakes his hand, smiles back. “I’m two years older, then?”

“Does it matter?” _Dream_ raises his eyebrow playfully, and George has a good feeling about approaching the other. 

“Pfft, of course. It gives me senior privileges.” He kids, testing out the waters by teasing the younger.

And bite Dream does, scowling to George in faux-contempt.

“Isn’t it university etiquette for seniors to treat their juniors to alcohol?”

George scoffs at that, chances a glance at the end of the hallway’s huge window.

“It’s still morning.” He hooks a thumb towards it.

“It’s simulated.” Dream pipes back.

“Still early.” George doesn’t back down.

“Buy me coffee, then?” Dream changes trajectory.

“Money doesn’t exist here, _Dream_.” 

“Senior privileges do.”

George sighs. Turns around and strolls through the hallway.

He turns back, catching the disappointed look from the younger. 

“I hope you drink cold brewed canned tea because that’s as far as university etiquette is going to get you!” 

The younger’s expression lightens up, cackling and following an amused George towards the vending machines.

“I should’ve known from the accent you’d be a tea guy. You don’t drink coffee, do you?”

“It’s the devil’s piss. It tastes like crap. Maybe your American ass can’t tell the difference, though.”

“Huh. Oddly, I knew you’d say that.”

“First day in and already being a brat. Please don’t make me regret my choices?”

“Hah, pity you, _George_. I’ve been told I’m hard to get rid of.”

“I feel like that’s going to be the case.”

* * *

One can of green tea and one can of brewed coffee later finds the newly acquainted senior-sophomore going back to the hallway of New York, down to rooms 1030 and 1031 which are Dream and George’s previously occupied ones. Talk, or more like _banter_ , had been flowing easily between the two of them, the hours passing by as both of them went to their rooms and chose the place to both be at. 

It’s Dream who holds the panel and manipulates it towards one of the common places he noticed they both go to.

“Do you play chess?” Dream asks him, as they both settle down to sit towards one of the benches in front of the clubroom.

“Yeah, sometimes. I’m not part of the club, though. Are you?” George shakes his head.

“Yeah I am. But if we were in the same club, we wouldn’t be on the same server, right?”

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Why are you often here then?”

George shrugs at that. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I think I go here sometimes because of my best friends, particularly one. I don’t remember his name, though. Just that he feels important. So important that his club room makes me feel warm, too. Although, nothing can make me feel as warm as his giggle.”

Dream is staring at him now, a funny look on his face.

“What?” George chips.

“Nothing! You sound so sappy just now.” Dream wheezes, banging his hand on the table in front of them.

“And you laugh like a kettle.” George protests weakly, but it seems to work, because Dream covers his mouth before scowling at George.

“Hey, that’s my charm! Besides my massive intellect, of course.”

“Sure, sure. Who told you that, your mom?” George scoffs at the offended look on Dream’s face.

“No! Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

George cackles at that.

“In fact, that someone who told me feels a lot like the one you were talking about.” Dream says matter-of-factly.

“Hah–! oh wait, really?” George quips up at this, excited at the prospect of them having a mutual friend. No matter how impossible it seems.

“Yeah, I think I know a guy like that. If he’s from the same chess club like you said. I don’t remember his name, either. But his laugh, and the way he flings his body towards you. I feel as if he’s important to me too. I mean, I’ve known him since we were kids, so he probably is.” Dream laughs fondly then, like some sort of ghost goes through him leaving him feeling nostalgic.

But George seems to share the sentiment, nodding along to what Dream is saying.

“No way we’re talking about the same person. I remember him feeling so chill but when he’s mad, he feels like this immovable person you don’t ever want to mess with. He’s such an idiot.” he giggles, itching to remember that person’s name so as to bring justice to how much adoration he’s feeling right now.

“An idiot, he is. I wish I could remember his name.” Dream says then, gaze faraway, plucking the words straight out of George’s brain.

George stares at the entrance of the chess club room, hearing faint traces of late night laughter of friends, of their groans when a move seems wrong, of doors being closed and opportunities being opened, of victory matches, of early morning practices he gets to witness; and wishes to say _me too, Dream_.

“I guess we’ll never know until we wake up.” George ends up saying, taking note of the first silence between him and Dream ever since they met earlier this morning.

Dream stares ahead for a while before shaking his head and scoffing. “Eh, he can stay as a memory for a while.” 

George throws his head back at that. “Asshole.” 

  
  


The night comes as fast as the day comes to an end, and it finds George and Dream at the entrance of the Museum Hub bidding each other goodbye.

“I’ll see you here tomorrow?” It’s Dream who asks the question.

“In the club room?” George tilts his head, hunching in on himself, not because of the cold in particular, but merely out of habit.

Dream laughs at that. “Okay, maybe not. Where would you wanna meet?”

George raises his eyebrow, taunting. “Who says I wanna meet you again?”

“You spent the whole day with me, idiot.” Dream says this, like George’s not making any sense.

“Huh. I guess I did.” He says, giving in to the younger. “You know that one diner by Central Park? The one with the dropping lights?”

George asks the man, remembering one of the places he and his friends always like to eat at because of it’s amazing food and amazing interior. George misses it. And it seems like he’s not the only one cursed with the memories of cheap burgers and greasy fries, because Dream grins at that, looking like he knows exactly what George is pertaining to.

“Are you trying to woo me, _Georgie_?”

George laughs for the nth time that day. 

_Georgie,_ he whispers to himself in disbelief at the stupid nickname, giggling all the while.

He fake-bows a curtsy, tilting his head in mock respect. “Of course, _Dreamypoo_. Only the best for you.”

Dream doesn’t buy it. He waves his hand in the air as if making it dissipate. “You're such an idiot. We can’t eat inside the museum, you know.”

Oh, that’s right. The Code doesn’t let you spawn food inside.

“Oh, Dream, you don't seem like a type of person who follows the rules, hmm?" George taunts, giving Dream a slight wiggle of his eyebrows.

Dream wheezes. "Maybe. Doesn't mean I wanna blow my chances of meeting you again." 

Dream says it passively, like he didn't just admit that he wants to see George again. George is kinda thankful for the dark. He clears his throat.

"Right, right. Well, as your amazing senior, I’ll sneak in some stuff so cover for me, yeah?” George winks for good measure but really, he has no idea how to do such things. All his meals he's eaten at the canteen of the museum or at his home pod, all at the simple command of his hovering toolbar that each user avatar possesses.

“What assures you I'm not one of, I don't know, the staff here?" Dream's response snaps George back.

"Dream. All the staff here at Primdise is AI. I'd believe you were AI if you, I don't know, acted like one but you could literally wear anything here and yet you chose to wear an ugly piss colored hoodie. If that doesn't scream suffering college student to you, I don't know what will. Also, your massive ego could not possibly be simply just a program." He deadpans, going on a rant, because, wow, he _did_ spend the entire day with this green eyed boy right here. He has already come across a lot of people over the past week but George had been the one to always bid his goodbye first and go on his way. 

Dream seems taken aback by George's spiel, but there is a darkening blush fighting its way on the younger's cheeks which confuses the senior. 

"It's lime green." Dream replies a few seconds later. Dream tries to hold back his laughter but to no avail. 

_Oh, so its because of that_.

George rolls his eyes. "I'm colorblind."

"Wow, okay- hah! That was mean of me, sorry."

"Damn right you are... _Pissbaby_."

Then the serious moment is broken as Dream throws his head back and hands up to cover his obnoxious wheezing laughter.

"Oh my god."

"Ugh, stop laughing, it isn't even that funny." George rolls his eyes at Dream, but he can't help the small smile that climbs into his cheeks as Dream continues to wheeze.

After a while, his laughing fit passes and he gives it a final scoff. 

George raises an eyebrow towards him. 

"Are you done?"

Dream shakes his head, wipes the tears behind his eyes. "Goodnight, _Gogy."_

"I regret this."—George says but–

They finally walk away from each other with identical grins in their mouths.

  
  


The next morning arrives and it finds George and Dream at the simulated streets of Manhattan. 

Upon waking up that day, George had expected for them to have some sort of awkwardness, or to run out of topics to talk about but to George's non-disappointment, they didn't. They go through the glitching alleyways of the city, talking about all they can remember from their lives in the real world.

George tells Dream about his simple life, of how this simple boy from Brighton wanted to explore the world, and so he started in New York, applying for scholarship in one of the top local universities, meeting his friends and clawing away his youth through excessive drinking and midnight parties, throwing up by the sidewalk and regretting it the next morning only to end up doing it again.

George feared he'd said too much, opened up too much to a stranger he had only gotten to know yesterday, but Dream listens well and pays attention well, nodding and reacting accordingly to each of George's excerpts from the life he remembers living. By the time they had reached Times Square, Dream had then, surprisingly shy, told him about his life.

Dream tells George about big dreams, of how a young boy fascinated with the world went from Florida to New York to achieve his dreams, and had exchanged his youth for his strive towards success, cooped up in the four walls of his dorm room studying the night away, having minimal friends, and living through life in a mess of deadlines and part time jobs.

They're different, George had noticed that. While he spent his nights in random strangers' houses, Dream spent his' in study rooms. While George spent his days flitting from people to people, Dream spent his days flitting through achievements after achievements. George lives in today; Dream lives for tomorrow.

They have so much difference from their real lives that it should be impossible for them to get along. 

And yet, he figures, maybe that's why they get along. The same way that it's impossible that they're in the same server, but then they are.

It doesn't really make sense now that George thinks about it, but in Primdise, what really does?

Originally, he had planned to spend the whole month given to them in staying here to rot away in his pod and drown in ghostly memories. He held no hope for tomorrow. Because if there was five minutes left, does anything even matter? And yet, strangely, George allows himself to look forward to dinner.

The whole day passes and it leads them back to the diner by Central Park. 

The place looks exactly like he remembers it. The baby blue walls with the retro posters, the dingy gray (or is it red) striped seats, the checkered tiled floors, the drop lights situated at each booth, the neon lights lining the counter, and the cashier situated right in the front door. The only difference is that it’s empty, not like in real life where it’s always buzzing with sleep-deprived college students. George and Dream walks in the shop, and sits at the back of the booth, the whole room accommodating their displacement. George pulls out the greasy burgers and warm milkshakes (not like it matters because it’s all simulated anyway) he ordered at the vending machines at the Hub’s cafeteria and gives half the share to Dream who rolls his eyes and wheezes at the elder’s clear effort. It doesn’t taste the same but they make do. After the food is gone and the conversation not, they hang by their booth and mess around, talking about everything still. 

“Wanna go to the rooftop?” It’s Dream who asks the question, standing up and brushing his jeans, offering his hand to George.

George scoffs. 

“What’s that for?”

Dream grins. “An excuse for you to hold my hand?” 

George rolls his eyes and stands up on his own. “Whatever, Dream. Just take me to the rooftop.”

And up the building they go, the hub’s elevator going through all the seven floors of the seven continents and stopping at the 8th. The air bites George’s skin as the night’s cold settles lazily against their warm breaths. The rooftop is dark, and Dream leads the way towards the edge. He pushes his feet through the railings and sits down at the edge, beckoning George to do the same. The city of Primdise stretches in the horizon, the night as its backdrop, the casino on the far left spewing lights in random directions, the bar’s distant music from the right making the ground around it vibrate through its bass, in front of them, the main square’s holographic trees surrounding the fountain in the middle as users fleet around, as if the dark hasn’t quite settles yet. Even here, the city never sleeps.

George sits close beside Dream, hooking his arms around the rails and hugging it, summoning his hovering toolbar and tries to recall an item. He types in the command for a blanket ( _/i blanket.thick.two._ ) and within seconds, the items materialize beside him. He hands one to Dream and the other he puts around his shoulders. Dream says thank you but puts the blanket in his lap, perhaps still feeling warm yet.

Dream tells him a story as George looks out the distance. They’ve spent two days now. 

“Why’d you come back?” George spits it out, after some time has passed and the dark deepens. Dream cuts himself off mid-story to spare a confused glance at George.

“Huh?”

“You came back today. To meet me.” 

“Yeah, and?”

“Well..” George started. “You couldn’t have. Primdise is huge.” He takes his eyes back to the casino, wondering how people still manage to gamble even when it’s all for nothing, anyway. “You could have just chosen to not meet me again.”

“Eh. And I could also have just chosen to meet you.” George sees Dream shrug in his peripheral.

“Fair point. Why though?” George leans his head down on his hands on the rail, turns to look at Dream. Dream looks right back. He laughs. George stares.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Because it’s _Primdise_. You can literally meet anyone.” George widens his eyes at the other. Dream leans his head on his crossed arms on the rail too, leaving them both on equal eye level, their faces only separated by three breaths and a stutter.

“It’s because you’re interesting, George. You exceed my expectations.” 

Dream says in a simple tone, likely not aware of what his words can pertain.

George turns his head to hide it and groans. “ _God,_ you are so far up your own arse.”

Dream wheezes, and says mid-laugh, “ I haven’t taken it like that before but sure.” 

“ _Oh my god.”_ George shakes his head. Doesn’t say anything else. Looks up to the horizon again.

When Dream’s teasing laughter dies down, he sighs, and then, “It’s the company.”

“Huh? What?” 

“You feel familiar? Maybe because of NYU and all, I can’t explain it but yeah. I think I came back because of the company you provide.”

He turns to look at the other, but Dream’s eyes are on the casino to the side.

George feels oddly pleased by the boy’s answer. “And the flirting?”

Dream chuckles, “Ah. That’s a plus. You are just too adorable to tease.” 

George laughs again. 

“Hey Dream.”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think time is?”

The blonde hums, acknowledging the question but understanding that George has something else he wants to add. George takes it.

“Isn’t it weird?”

“What is?” The boy turns to look at him. 

“That they say we have five minutes left in the real world before the element spreads and kills us all. But we also have, like, three— two and a half weeks more in this virtual city. Isn’t it crazy that we are literally stuck in a millisecond but here, we get to do what could have taken a whole lifetime to do.”

George takes a deep breath. Once. Twice. Looks out to the nightscape for the nth. Counts the beat of the distant music by the bar. Counts the flickering lights by the casino. Counts the paces of the people in the square. Takes a deep breath again. It sure doesn’t feel like a millisecond.

He looks at Dream. Watches as his eyes reflect the stars from up and below. The green pool of his irises deep, so unlike the grass green from yesterday, but more of the murky ocean so deep you can drown. The neon lights of the city and the dim glow of his tool bar’s minimized icon makes the boy look unreal. Maybe he is. 

Dream turns to look at him. George sucks in a breath.

“Time is uncountable. Clocks tell time but clocks only measure themselves.” Dream says carefully, his eyes flickering all over George’s face. George takes what he says in. “So, technically, we could be here forever. As long as the clock doesn’t tick.”

His eyes settle on George’s.

“Oh.” George exhales. He looks at the night view, of Primdise’s flickering lights, like stars on Earth, burning only to inevitably explode in dust. He looks at the boy beside him, who has the same stars in his eyes, and yet he makes it seem like he can keep them there for an eternity. 

_Forever,_ huh?


	2. -1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conversations and then, a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOHOHO hiiii you've reached the second chapter, I'm glad! 
> 
> So thankful you decided to take this ride with me! 
> 
> p.s. Just so it won't cause confusion, Dream is the one who talks in italicized in the middle section!

The next day, they meet again. And then the day after that. And then the day after the day after that. They meet again so often the days blur together in a crumple of never ending conversations filled with seven pm banter and three am thoughts.

Their conversations are juxtapositions. Confusing, for the outside ear. But they’ve created their own bubble amidst thousands of citizens of the city, that nobody is there to listen to them talk about bananas being a berry (and how raspberries are not) in one second and the impending loom of death in the next.

George actually likes it. Their back and forth. He aches for it in the morning he wakes up alone in his pod, hurrying down to run back to the hub, to run back to a green eyed boy who wheezes for a laugh and has the entire ocean in his eyes. However weird the flow between them is, it still is in all regards, a flow. Something he wouldn’t want to be dissipated. No matter how weird his questions are, Dream answers them with equal fervor. Even asks questions he has himself because he’d learn that George entertains each and everyone of them.

* * *

_"George, just pick up the green ball and throw it!"_

"I can't see it!"

_"It's right there in front of you! Pick it up and toss it, we're gonna lose!"_

"Is this it?"

_"No—" Dream wheezes. "—That's not—" He cackles even louder._

"Shut. Up. I can't see green. I'm colorblind!"

_That sets the boy off even more. "Oh my god…"_

George rolls his eyes and throws any random ball toward the hoops in one booth at the arcade, not wanting to win anymore. Dream seems like he's having the time of his life laughing anyway. "Stop laughing."

_"I- I can't—" He starts another laughing fit._

"Dream!"

* * *

They're at the Hub, in rooms 1030 and 1031, on top of the Empire State Building looking out the entire rendered city.

_"Hey George, are you in favor?"_

"Of what?"

_"The world ending."_

"The world isn't ending. It's gonna end."

Dream chuckles. " _What?"_

"They're different. At least for me."

_"How are they different?"_

"End with an -ing means that it is a process. Process of coming to an end. Walking. Running. Living. The process of doing those things. If oxygen ceases to exist and we die, then the end of the world isn't a process. It isn't stretching into time from start to finish. It just is. A state. The end."

The other boy shakes his head with a smile on his face. _"That sounds like so much bullshit it actually makes sense."_

"Shut up. So are you in favor?"

" _No. Who is?"_

"I am."

 _"Why?"_ No malice. Plain curiosity.

"I grew up with dirt stains on my cheek and warm soil on my fingertips. I loved playing outside. At eight, I went to the beach and fell in love with it. Earth is such a wonderful place, isn't it.

"Home, that's what we call it. And yet, as the years pass, I grew up destroying it unknowingly. The fast food, the factories, the plastic, the chemicals, everything. And even when I knew, I did nothing because even if I did something, what's the point? It's not like just because I wanted to use paper straws doesn't mean corporations would stop balding forests. That's when I realize that humanity is the problem. The world won't end, it'll just be the end of man's era. The earth will still be here. And maybe that's for the better. I grew up loving the world so much I wanted it to end. Funny, huh?"

 _"...That's really funny... Because in my case, I hated the world so much I wanted to change it."_ Dream says after a while.

"Why?"

_"Same reason as you. Man sucks. I wanted to change that. Because if people like me who wanted to change it exists, then is hope really lost? I guess the only difference between us is that I just had a tad more faith in humanity than you do."_

"...Maybe you did, Dream."

* * *

_"Come here, George!"_

"Leave me alone!"

_Dream cackles. "Oh you are going to die."_

_Dream hits him the final time_.

"NO!" George shouts.

"Ugh, this VR Minecraft sucks. Why are we even here, let's just go back to the hub."

_Dream wheezes. "You are such a crybaby. Wanna go again?"_

"Oh Dream~"

_"OH. MY. GOD. LEAVE ME ALONE."_

"Dreaaaam. I have a present for you."

_[ George has made the achievement [Cover Me With Diamonds]. ]_

_"No way. Diamond Armor? This early in the game? No chance."_

George giggles. "I have a sword, too."

_"No way."_

"Bye Dream~"

* * *

They're at the rooftop again. Laying down with their eyes to the sky.

"Thirteen. Forty-three. Forty."

_"134340. Pluto?"_

"Oh, you know about it?"

_"Just that."_

"So what do you think it is? A star or a planet?"

_"Didn't it… like, fall off the solar system or something? I thought it wasn't a planet anymore. I don't actually know."_

" I think it's a ghost."

_"A ghost?"_

"Yeah. Like we don't really know if it's a moon or a planet. If it's dead or alive. It's just… It's like Primdise, in a way. A mere phantom of what we could have had. What could have been. We don't really know if this whole thing is real or not. What if nothing is real? What if we are long dead and this is then the afterlife? What if everything is just a figment of our imagination?"

Dream looks at George. Places his hands down on George's upturned palm. Traces his fingers across its plane before intertwining them together. It's warm. It feels warm like it actually is and not just the virtual avatar of a boy he hasn't even met.

 _"George,"_ he starts _, "if this was all a dream, then you're the best thing I've ever came up with."_

* * *

" _Geooorge, buy me coffee."_

“Money doesn’t exist here, Dream.”

“ _I know. But still, buy me coffee.”_

 _“_ What’s the difference if you get it yourself? You can literally recall an item using your toolbar, Dream.”

“ _I know. The difference is that if I do that, then you won’t be able to buy it for me.”_

“You’re such an idiot.”

“ _George, buy me coffee.”_

"No."

" _Why?"_

"I just don't want to."

" _Why?" Dream whines again. George looks down at the boy whose head is in his lap._

"Do I have to explain why I said No?"

_"Ugh. Fine. Then just tell me you love me."_

"I— What?"

" _Tell me you love me!"_

"...No."

" _Why? I love you. Say it back."_

George sputters. "Dream! You can't just say that!"

" _I just did." Dream cackles. "I love you."_ He says again.

_god, why is he so open with—_

"Oh my god. Shut up."

" _Geoooorge."_

"Dream shut up."

" _George! Just tell me you love me. Please it will make me fall asleep at night better. It will water my crops. Clear my skin, all that."_

"God, you're insufferable."

_Dream beams. "You love me."_

George just sighs.

_(He won't say it. Not for now. )_

* * *

Then,

“ _Who do you think made Primdise?”_

“I don’t know. Wasn’t it kind of a top-secret government project or something?”

_“Hmm. Well, who do you think they made it for?”_

George thinks about it for a few beats. “For the selfish people. For people who seek far too much. For people who are greedy. I don’t really know.”

“ _Do you think that’s all there is to it, then? Sex? Money? Fame? Power?”_

“I guess. Everything here is accommodated to fulfill that, isn’t it? The casino. The bar. All that.”

_“But, what about people like you and me? We aren’t in any of those places.”_

George hums. “Maybe, Primdise could also be a place for us. Who’s to stop us from doing so?”

_“I guess you’re right.”_

_“Do you consider yourself selfish, George?”_

“I wouldn’t say I am. But I’m not selfless either.”

“ _Makes sense.”_

“Are you?”

Dream stares at George for a minute longer. _“...I think I am.”_

"I want it to rain."

_"What?"_

"I miss the rain. The calm it brings."

_"Yeah?"_

"Yeah. So I kinda wish it rains when we go back to the real world. It seems fitting. For the end and all. Maybe by then, dying wouldn't be so bad."

Dream scoffs. But unlike his prior ones where it's filled with teasing, today it's just acid.

_"You are aware, George, that it doesn't really matter at the end, right?"_

"I-- What?"

_"I said it doesn't fucking matter."_

"I— Dream? What's wrong? You're not making any sense…"

_"Why am I not making any sense? I think I'm making perfect sense. Do you think it really matters if it rains, do you think what you would like to happen matters when you are literally five minutes away from ceasing to exist?"_

Pain. "Dream, why are you saying this…?"

_"Do you like it here, George? Tell me honestly."_

He hates it. But here is where he met Dream. If not for this… their paths were never meant to cross each other in real life. George knows. That it doesn't really matter. But Dream is here now and…

" I can't answer that."

_"Why the fuck can't you?"_

"Dream. What's wrong? Why are you mad? Did I do something? I—" George’s voice cuts off when Dream walks away.

Dream leaves him.

George is devastated.

The next day, George comes to the rooftop. The place where they always start their day. The place they always meet at. He waits for Dream there.

Dream doesn't come.

The whole morning passes and no Dream shows up. George swallows the bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe Dream overslept. Or maybe Dream got lost or wasn't feeling the rooftop and went to another one of the places they've been to. 

So George does that. He spends the afternoon scouring the city of Primdise. To the places they walked. To the places they didn't. But Dream is nowhere to be found.

George comes back to the rooftop at sunset. He holds back his tears till then, not wanting anyone to see him cry. When he reaches the door leading to it, he sees the boy he looked the whole city through.

"Dream.", he whispers.

Dream stands there, guilt all over his face but his eyes hold a quiet determination in them.

_"Come with me."_

"Dream, I'm sorry for yester—"

Dream holds up a hand. He shakes his head. George nods.

Dream walks. George follows.

They go down the stairs from the rooftop, down the long hallways of the hub, down the elevator. The night seeps in the crevices of the city giving the air a cold whisper. George sighs from the cold. Dream keeps walking ahead of him.

They go through the city, through the places George had been earlier in the day, and through the places he didn't. They walk past the casino. And to the next bl0ck. And to the next block after that. George wants to look around this part of the city he's never been before. But he doesn't want to lose sight of Dream. He doesn't want to lose Dream.

In the middle of what seems to be a night market, a whole street lined with stalls, the amount of people doubles, making it a bit hard for George to follow Dream two paces back. He falls behind a bit, keeps track of the dirty blonde he's so used to being close with. Clearly, he wasn't looking where he was going, and so it's only natural to bump into people.

The user bowed to George a bit before muttering something in another language and then looking at him with apologetic eyes. He figured they said sorry, right?

He shrugs it off, nods to the other person, eager to finish their conversation. The other person nods quickly and heads off. George looks right back to the general direction of where Dream was. He wasn't there. George lost him.

But even before the panic of not finding Dream again settles in him, someone holds his hand. It's warm.

George turns. It's Dream. Close to him again. His hand holding George. Dream looks at George wordlessly and then proceeds to walk again.

"Dream…"

George says, loud enough to hear amongst the crowd but Dream doesn't look back at him.

When George tries to let go, Dream's grip on him tightens. George takes in a breath. Stops walking.

And so, Dream does too. He looks back.

And there, in the middle of a bright city, in the middle of a bustling street, amidst the sea of people fluttering past and never seeming to settle, with hands in each others’, they stop.

George takes a breath. One. Two. They stare at each other for a few beats of breath.

Dream intertwine their hands. Something settles.

_Dream is mad for some reason. But he won't leave. It's alright._

George nods again.

Dream continues walking.

After several turns and a few blocks farther, they arrive at yet another huge architecture. George hasn't been to this part of the city.

"Where are we?" He asks Dream.

Dream still doesn’t reply but he leads George in. They go through the lobby, Dream scans his QR ID then leads George down a corridor to the left, then finally goes into an empty room.

The room consists of nothing but a sleek white control panel at the side of the door, like the ones in the museum hub, but with a lot more keys and buttons. The walls are bare white, with holographic blue light lining the edges, giving the room a soft glow. The room is bright thanks to the whole ceiling being diffused white light but it dims down when Dream presses a button in the panel. Dream says nothing, wordlessly clicking and pushing a few buttons and running a few commands George couldn’t bother to comprehend because his eyes are on Dream’s other hand that still has his. Dream still hadn’t let go.

George raises his head when the light changes from a soft blue to a calm grey, the bare white walls disappearing as grids of blue hologram cross horizontally and vertically across the room, transforming the formerly empty room into a simulated reality of what seems to be a park. The walls turn invisible giving way to the illusion of a huge greenery, with trees and bushes and paths leading off into the distance. The trees rustle quietly against the wind. In front of the wall directly opposite of them stands a wooden bench so real George might think he’s back in the real world.

He’s so fascinated that he unknowingly lets go of Dream’s hand in order to stride across the room and touch the bench to see if it’s real.

Rough. The bark of the cropped tree grazes the tips of his fingers. He glides his hands along the back rest. Cold. The metal frame feels solid as he presses his hands into it. A chuckle tumbles out of him as he boldly tries to sit down. He could! The chuckle turns to a full on giddy giggle. He sways his feet in the air, waiting for him to fall to the ground for sitting down something that isn’t real. He doesn’t fall. He laughs again.

_Oh my god, how is this possible?_

Before he can ask Dream a million questions, something cold hits the top of his head. He raises his head, sees that the simulated pavement in front of him darkens in small random spots until it turns into another darker shade. The wind whistles, momentarily not allowing George to hear the sound, but then:

_Pit-pat. pit -pat_.

A drizzle.

George’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open, as he looks up and the white light ceiling no more and instead, the endless gray sky and the purple clouds and out with it is rain.

_It’s raining._

George sucks in a breath. His heart beating loud. He looks down to the man across the room, unsure of his own expression but certain about what is now consuming every part of his soul. “ _Dream.”_ he whispers.

The boy seems to hear it. He approaches the bench George is frozen at, stands in front of the boy, lowers his head so their eyes meet. He takes a hold of George’s hand. Squeezes it firmly. The other hand reaches up and holds George by his cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin underneath. Warm.

Dream is warm. George doesn’t take his eyes off as the boy he had met a few weeks ago stands in front of him, looking at him with a quiet reverence. Dream sighs. Moves his hand holding George’s cheek round the back of his neck and pulls the elder closer. George closes his eyes.

A pair of warm lips lands in the middle of his forehead.

George feels dizzy. A few beats pass and Dream unlatches from his kiss. He smiles at George, the first time of that very long day, whispers, “It’s raining, George.”

A laugh tumbles out of George, but this time, they came in the form of tears, the softness of his chuckle in contrast to the sharpness his tears seem to take the direction of. They fall down his face, one side flowing freely down to his chin, the other being held back by Dream’s hand still on one of his cheeks. He smiles back to this unbelievable par of a boy, closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip to avoid further crying, and nods repeatedly. A sob comes out of his mouth as he takes ahold of the hand on his cheek, moving along with his nod. “It is, isn’t it?” He whispers back, shakily.

Dream laughs, although watery too, and wipes the tears on George’s face with both his hands, shaking his head and looking at him with so much openness now that he seemed to lack earlier. “Why are you crying, you idiot?” Fondness dripping like water.

“It’s because _you’re_ an idiot.” George buries a finger to Dream’s chest hard, pushing him back but to no avail. Dream shakes his head but he agrees, “I am. I’m sorry George.”

“ _You disappeared on me,”_ George whispers, the pain this whole day cost battling the cold the rain offers.

“I thought you weren’t… That you didn’t want…” George trails off, not even sure what he wants to say.

“I know, baby. I’m an asshole. Please don’t cry.” Dream wraps his arms around George, pulling the man close to his chest. George does the same, hugging the still standing boy’s middle.

When George calms down a little, he pushes Dream back and pulls him to the seat beside him. It’s still raining but so light they could barely feel it. He laughs at himself.

“God, this is so stupid. What even is this place? How…?” _did you do that? How does it work? Why did you leave? Why did you come back? Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?_

“It’s called augmented reality. After last night— I— you said you miss the rain, right? I tried looking for a place like this this morning. I hoped there would be. I thought there wasn’t but… here we are. That...was why I wasn’t able to come…” Dream explains, looking uncertain, the first time George sees it ever since they met.

 _“Dream.”_ George starts but Dream shakes his head. “Do you like it?” the boy asks.

George stares at him. Shifts his eyes to the puddle of rain that seemed to form in front of them. Looks at their pitter patters. Counts how many ripples a single drop can make before it’s too large to keep track. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six counts. He looks back at the boy beside him. Dream is still there.

George nods. “I do.”

The trees dance, and George tunes it to their music, his hands encircling his legs closer to his chest. He lays his head down on the crevice of his knees, letting the rain be their blanket. They wouldn’t get wet, because it is still after all only augmented reality, but George counts the information out of his head for now.

Dream speaks after a while. “I’m sorry for earlier, George.”

George doesn't say anything. Dream continues.

“The talk we had last night, about Primdise… About who’s it for.”

_For the selfish people. For people who ask for far too much._

_Do you consider yourself selfish, George?_

_I wouldn’t say I am. Are you?_

_I think I am._

“George, I want to see you.”

“I’m right here, Dream.”

Dream lets go of George’s hand and musses his hair in frustration. It falls onto a beautiful mess as he sighs down onto his hands.

“You don’t understand. I want to _see_ you.”

“I really don’t under… What?”

“As in, in the real world, George. And—” Dream mutters a quiet _fuck_ under his breath, “—it hurts more than I can say of how much I ache for this to be real and at the same time, for none of this to be real at all. Because, George, what do you do when something feels so real in a place where everything isn’t?”

Dream’s voice breaks. He is crying. George’s heart aches.

“ _Dream_.”

Dream raises his head, looks at George and takes a deep breath. His right hand comes up to cup George’s cheek. A quiet desperation resolves its way around Dream’s irises.

“George. _George_. Maybe we _are_ selfish. Maybe this is our place, too. In our own way of asking for far too much… You wish to see the rain. And I you.”

George heaves a heavy sigh. He shakes his head. A quiet resignation in his heart. He hates to break Dream’s heart. He really does. But...

“Dream, we don’t really have any option. Nothing else will matter...”

Oh, how the tables have turned. George thinks bitterly. Him wanting to see the rain is quiet resignation. Dream wanting to see him is deafening hope. George isn’t quite sure he’ll be able to reciprocate. What can they even do? What is it even for? There is an end, but there will be none of the happiness that usually came with it. There is no good thing at the end of whatever this is that they have. It will only end in vain.

Dream’s expression does not falter. A crackle of fire, humming like a furnace, eating up the bark of hope the boy keeps feeding it. George is afraid to come close to the warmth.

“Exactly, George. This… Looking for this place. Our conversations. This whole day. _You._ All that made me realize something.”

George shakes his head in frustration.

“Dream, we have five minutes left.” _That’s not going to make a difference._

Dream shakes his head back in defiance. “ _George,_ we have five minutes _more_.”

George’s breath gets stuck in his throat.

_It’s all the difference we need._ The implications of what Dream just said… The wood is getting thrown into the furnace. George could feel it burning.

The silence that follows after seems to scream back at George.

“Are you suggesting…?” George starts off, but doesn’t know what to even say after.

“We run. George, I say we run.” Dream says with an unbreakable resolve, his gaze hard on George, like even if the whole world is against him, he’d stand by what he said. George’s heart aches.

He woke up in Primdise, learning about what went on, what will go on, and what wouldn’t be. He carried on living through the days just because he can’t die. Yet. He had no hope. Held none of it because for him, it was baggage. Sisyphus’ boulder. An eternal punishment you cannot get out of if you hold on to it. But now, three weeks down the line, having met a boy who holds the ocean in his eyes and kettles for laughs, hope feels a lot different. It feels like two sets of heavy intact lines of feathers that could take him to the sky; they feel like wings.

“What?” George asks again, because when there is hope, there is fear. And most often, fear is a one worded question holding every inch of doubt.

Dream is patient. “Let’s meet up, George. In the real world.”

George’s heart thuds so loud in his ears he wonders how he’d been able to hear Dream at all.

“I-How?” George persists because even though there is certainly hope, that doesn’t give them the assurance that it could be fulfilled.

Dream stays quiet at this. His eyes flitting around George’s face, the cogs in his mind turning and churning. One. Two. Three.

Then, when George’s habitual counting reaches eight, Dream’s eyes widened all of a sudden.

“Shit,” the boy says, then places both his hands firmly on George’s shoulders, “ _George, back then- you— I can’t believe... r-right?”_ Dream stutters around, fumbling over his words like suddenly his mind is folding itself in half, leaving nothing for George to decipher.

“Dream! Slowly.” George soothes.

Dream nods once, and enunciates his next words with a careful tone.

“I said, George, back then, the reason you approached me in the first place was because we had the same places we always went to, right?”

“Right…” George’s brows furrowed in confusion, remembering a blonde haired stranger, green tea and iced americano, of first meetings and awkward fumbling of greetings.

_Right. That was the reason he approached Dream in the first place. Because the boy went to places that George did, too._

George’s eyes widened as the realization sank upon him.

 _The same places_.

Then that means…

Dream nods rapidly. “That means we’re near. We’re _close._ You said you live in a dorm, right? And that you walk sometimes to campus if your classes aren’t too early?”

“Well...yeah?”

George reels from his blindness. The fact that none of the people in the same server have correlations to each other is so ingrained in Primdise, and in George’s mind that he literally forgot why he approached Dream in the first place.

“How many dorms could Manhattan possibly have that is within the radius of comfortably walking to school? What’s the probability that the walk, the _run_ time could be _less_ than five minutes?”

Dream says in flourish, a nervous laugh tumbling out his lips at the last question, as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Okay, I’m sure it’s a lot. But, _George,_ I have…”

 _Hope._ George nods feverly.

“You think it’s possible?” George manages to gather his voice although the slight tremble in it might let Dream know that he’s not the only one being filled with anticipation.

Dream nods, laughing again, his eyes radiating mirth.

He seems like he’s giddy at the prospect of them meeting.

_They are going to meet each other._

George feels dizzy. He can feel the erratic thump of his heart, as something that’s not supposed to feel too foreign begins to bloom inside his chest, aching to come out and go ahead and run the streets of New York itself.

“They said it was morning, right? That we go back. Around eight in the morning, the world is ending—” Dream chokes on his words, and George shares the sentiment. Never in his life would he actually wish that the end would be sooner than what was to happen, “—the world is going to end. They didn’t say which day and we really have no idea what went on that morning, right? Because that was the Code?” Dream asks in confirmation, and George nods, recalling the first ever day at Primdise, when AI Tutorials were the first order of business, orienting them of everything there is to know.

 _‘Welcome to Primdise! I am TG11196 and I shall be the one to guide you through our beautiful city. Primdise is a virtually simulated city created for all. Believe it or not, you are going to die! In five minutes! Welp, haha. But worry not, because here, time stopped on the outside! Everyone is given a month of total bliss in our beloved city before returning back to the real world. First, let me tell you about the Code! The Code is a set of algorithms designed to… ...and your toolbar is your personal guide and controller to your avatar. That’s basically everything you need to know about Primdise! If you have further inquiries, just tap the question mark button on the far left side of your hovering toolbar and I will be summoned to assist you further! Until then, this concludes the end of the tour! Remember,_ _in Primdise, we know! All you ever want in a simple click. Thanks to the Code, you can go live your dreams now!’_

George woke up in his home pod then, a simple room that only has a single bed and a table (since every possible need; food, clothing, etc. ; can be summoned using the toolbar, and every possible want; luxury, riches, vices; could be fulfilled in the city premises.) aligned with thousands of other users’ pods in a building amidst identical buildings. He went around the city that day. Found Museum Hub the next. The rest is history.

Said history snaps his fingers in front of George and George startles. He snaps back to his bearings, and answers Dream in a haze of memories. _Has it really just been three weeks?_

“Uhm… yeah, right! Right.”

Dream widens his eyes. “George, pay attention!”

“I am!” George rebutted for the sake of it, huffing indignantly.

“Okay! Okay, fine, fine. So, anyway, each day of the week, where would you be if it was 8 in the morning? If we lay it out, map out our best routes for each possible scenario, estimate our run times… George, it _would_ be possible, right?”

George can’t help the laughter that tumbles out of his mouth for the first time that day. He cackles, glee pouring out of him like thick honey, dripping down and bathing everything in a soft glow. The simulated clouds part and opens the sky, the sun rays filtering through and with it, Dream returns the laughter. It’s still raining, but it isn’t so gray anymore. George feels his tear-stricken cheeks stretch from the wide grin plastered on his lips, as he stares at the boy who laughs loudly, both of them shaking their heads in a dizzy mix of amusement and anticipation.

George nods to himself. _They can do this. Hope, like wings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pit-pat. pit -pat.


	3. 0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO HO HO HELLO :} i wrote this whole fic just for this exact ending. i guess you could really tell by the clear difference in the way of writing between the three chapters. im sorry for that. but still, you're at the end and that makes me so happy! i hope you enjoy this last part! 
> 
> ps. you might want to watch this 3-minute [video](https://youtu.be/rdt85jgRHt0) just to give you a little background of what might or might not happen at the end. 
> 
> again, this has been a short but wild ride. thank you so much for giving the fic a chance :}

Trying to create a fool-proof plan when you don’t remember half the things you should remember is proving to be a lot more difficult than it sounds.

The following days are spent planning. They have about a week left until the Return; the last final moment of Primdise when everything in the virtual city goes into archive as everyone gets back and wakes up in the real world. The remaining time finds George and Dream back at the museum hub, primarily because it allows them to access the exact same replica of the streets of Manhattan. Another reason is that it has less user population, most of them spending their last week drowning in misery and luxury, in a grandiose of total bliss at the expense of letting everything go and accepting humanity’s total defeat. ( _But not them.)_

George had seen only a couple of users in their aisle, a few more on the same floor and just a quarter full on the rare times he and Dream went to the hub’s cafeteria. He guesses that while most people tend to live everything to the fullest, there are also those that swim in an ocean of nostalgia, coming back to the places of what once was. George isn’t sure where he and Dream belong in those categories.

But, less user population means that George and Dream can sit on the floor of their unofficially claimed room (1030, of course) for hours on end, grasping the edges of their hazed memories, trying to map out all possible routes they could take towards each other and where would be the best possible place to meet.

Okay, so: The world ends at around 8 in the morning. They don’t know which day of the week.

George is a Computer Science major in his fourth year, which means his schedule is, if he remembers correctly mostly three-unit subjects that have a lot of vacant hours in between the next, unlike Dream who is on the same course but two years below. This means that Dream’s schedule is a lot more put together, his classes set up on a continuous build.

George, if he remembers correctly, has 7 am lectures on Mondays, Tuesdays and Saturdays. He has an 8:30 lecture every Wednesday. All the remaining days, his classes take place in the afternoon. He doesn’t have any classes nor club engagements on Sundays. Which means that except Thursday, Friday and Sunday, he is on campus or on the way there when the clock ticks at 8. George tends to hang out, often with his friends and on random times without, in random coffee shops and libraries and diners every fourth and fifth day of the week, exploring the city outwards, leaving him now putting Thursday and Friday at the bottom of his what day to wake up wish list.

Dream’s schedule and whereabouts are a lot more complicated to work with. He has afternoon classes, which eliminates the possibility of them being on campus together, unless Dream goes to school early. But the boy said that that is highly unlikely seeing as he said he had some part time jobs in the morning. _Like the diligent boy that he is,_ George thinks. He sometimes forgets the fact that they live polar opposite lives back in the real world.

“So where are those part-time jobs located?” George had asked instead.

Dream tries to recall them. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he’s a barista at a small cafe from the far side of the city.

“Why are you so far away, Dream?” George rolls his eyes. Dream rolls his eyes back.

“Hey! It’s not like I knew I was gonna meet someone who’d make me run across the whole city when I applied for that job.”

George’s ears burn. Dream sees it. He scoffs.

“And the rest of the week?” George steers back into track.

“Football practice.” Dream says simply.

George rolls his eyes again. _Of course, this man is a jock_.

George must have said it out loud because Dream chuckles.

“It’s a great experience. Plus, it makes me a thousand percent hotter.” Dream winks at him.

George could feel his cheeks burn. “You’re so stupid.”

Dream wheezes at him. “I knew you thought so.”

“Stop.” The elder tries to look mad, giving the man across him an angry glare, but to no avail, Dream ends up laughing harder that George can’t help the small smile fighting its way on his lips.

“ _Dream._ ” he says in warning as he shakes his head in fondness masked as disapproval. He wonders when his heart will stop growing for this little lemon boy.

“Okay, okay… Okay, I’ll stop.”

He gives it a final huff, before wiping the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“So where would we meet?” George asks, looking down at all the printed out maps of Manhattan they’ve sketched onto, blue and green sharpies encircling the landmarks and their possible whereabouts, wondering where would be the best option for a middle ground. A place of rendezvous.

“How about here?” Dream points down on the map somewhere near the lime-encircled landmark of their university. George leans closer, squinting his eyes to see where exactly Dream is pointing at.

“Washington Square Park?” George asks.

Dream nods, then stands up to go to the panel at the front of the room, pushes a few buttons and types in a few words. A few seconds pass and the simulated scenery of the said park comes alive inside of Room 1030. George’s previous position on the clean white floor changes into pavement, beside the huge fountain in the middle. Simulated trees stand around them, encasing George in a swift breeze of nostalgia. Dream toggles the map forward, and the formerly averaged-size arch in the distance now seems larger up-close.

Dream takes a seat back down, but instead of across, he sits beside George. They end up facing the arch. The boy places his hands behind him in support, stretching his legs in front of him. George doesn’t move from crossed legs.

“Let’s meet here, George. In Washington Square Arch.”

George stares at the roman architecture in front of them. Its hard edges against the soft blue sky. The intricate carvings that transcends even their time. George counts to three. George counts to ten. He wonders how long this building would stand after the Negation. He remembers being told about it, that once the negation element of oxygen takes its effect, everything will fall apart. Buildings, most noticeable of all. Because it’s said that one of concrete’s building blocks is oxygen and so in return, the absence of it would take everything down with it. George wonders which would go down first; this arch or his last breath.

“Would you run to me?”

George sucks in a breath. Dream is turning towards him, his question hanging in the air in the space between where their eyes meet. _That’s right_. It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter if everything falls apart. What matters is that Dream is looking at him with pure unadulterated yearning, and George can’t do anything but return it. Even if everything falls apart, George wants it to wait and watch him run. Because he will.

“I will, Dream. As fast as I can.”

Dream gives him a soft grin. He doesn’t say anything else. He looks back down to the map and quietly goes back to tracing roads.

They get through it. The first week at Primdise, they had solace. The second introduced company. The third brought in something much much more. The fourth; a promise.

His first days in this city, he asked himself _how long would this hell last?_ Nothing in this hellhole is real. How long would he have to deal with an illusion?

Yet, now…

A month down the line and he wonders how a single boy could make him change his beliefs without him realizing they’ve changed. How a single boy could make him _hope_. These last few days made him realize that. He’s witnessed it in himself in the nervous chuckles and anticipating huffs of breaths. Each sigh punctuated with giddiness, each smile full of hope, each goodbye sounding more and more of a _see you later._

George stares at this man across of him, who is staring down at their mess of papers, lime sharpie on hand, brows furrowed, trying to memorize and study everything else. He stares at this man who he has come to know, come to see, come to _feel_. The thick churning in his heart simmers. _Not now_ , he remembers thinking. _But yes, maybe_ , he changes his mind.

* * *

Their last day on Primdise is like this:

George wakes up on his pod alone. He stares at his bare walls. Takes a bath. He starts up his hovering toolbar, and clicks a few buttons to summon a hoodie, clicks on a random color. He puts it on. Puts on the rest of his clothes. Brushes his teeth. Brushes his hair. Puts on his socks. Puts on his shoes. Gets out of the door.

Every step feels mechanical. Every move feels like a pre-written script that he’s stuck on repeating and repeating. He hasn’t felt like this in a while. He hasn’t felt like this in weeks.

He takes his time to walk to the hub.

He walks through the streets of Primdise, of its glitching alleyways and shining architectures. He walks past the entrance of the casino, the place a lot quieter than he thought it would be on the last day. He reroutes around the park and notices that there are a lot more people here than normal. He goes around the bar, the spa, the buildings he doesn’t even know the name of. He goes with the stream of people, he goes against it, he diverges from the current only to converge again. Half an hour later than how short it should’ve taken, his feet take him back to the hub. The pale white stands tall on the clear blue sky, and its vastness towers over George and sinks him deeper into whatever is making his feet drift against the ground.

He takes his time to go through the doors.

He takes his time to climb up the stairs.

He chances a glance at the lobby, feels the ghost of his first time here mindlessly wandering around, and then on his second, walk filled with intent. The next week was filled with desperate nostalgia. And then the next introduced him to a friend.

It’s his last day of going to be here. Which means it’s _the_ last day. The last day on Earth, in a way. Because after this… they will come back to the real world. Five minutes, and then what?

When he reaches and turns to the third hallway of the first floor, Dream is there.

George lets go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The sigh he let go was the only thing setting him afloat a huge ocean. Having let it go, he feels himself sink, cold water grasping every crevice of his body. Dream greets him with a small smile, says something in greeting, but George can’t hear him. The water he tried so hard to run from takes him back to its persistent waves and deep embrace.

He sinks down, mind clouding with the questions he’s tried very hard to suppress.

George can’t breathe. Head swimming in sharp questions as his eyes overflow.

He’s in the ocean.

He’s drowning.

He is the ocean.

It’s overflowing.

He’s crying.

He hates himself for breaking down. He wants to punch his anxiety in the face. But most of the times, you can’t. Sometimes anxiety is a big buff monster putting you down and eating you alive but sometimes its the sea, soft but intangible, weak but invincible. It’s not as strong and as dominating as the monster but sometimes you feel more afraid of it. It engulfs you. Sometimes all you can do is sink.

George is afraid. No, he’s terrified. Because if Primdise was a chance, if Primdise was to let you live your own to the fullest, what happens if it ends? If it isn’t real, what happens if he forgets? _What if he forgets Dream?_

He doesn’t want to forget. For once in his life, he wants to fight. But what if it’s all for nothing? What if he doesn’t remember? What, then? Why do they even try? He’ll lose the only thing he’s ever wanted to fight for. He can’t lose Dream, no. no. _no. no. no no no_ -

 ** _“-eorge.. George. George!”_** Dream shakes him. George startles, raises his head in shock. He didn’t notice he sank down on the ground earlier, but now he does, the ache in his knees apparent. Dream is holding him by his shoulders, firm grip but not hurting, his brows furrowed angrily but his eyes are kind. He’s worried.

The breath gets caught in his throat. Dream’s stare is unwavering.

“George, _listen._ This may **not** be the real world, but listen, _listen,_ okay?” Dream’s words are firm, and he says it like its the law, like its steel, like its an anchor. “This. is. Real.” He says each word with careful enunciation, eyes locked with George.

“You are real. I am. What i feel here,” he points at his chest, “is real. And I _promise you_ , when we come back? We come back to each other, isn’t that right? We will. Everything will be alright. Everything will work out. I’m here, okay? I’m here.” Dream pulls him to his chest, and George weakly follows, his legs on either side of the other boy’s waist, Dream’s hands around him, caging him, grounding him.

George sighs. Wills the erratic pounding of his heart to calm down. He tries to even out his breathing, his head on the juncture of Dream’s neck and shoulder, the other boy whispering sweet nothings to his ear, lulling him. He’s safe now. There’s an anchor. He pulls at it and it pulls him out. George is here. Dream is here. He pulls the other man closer by the fabric of his clothes. Breathes him in.

“I’m here, George.” Dream whispers, kissing the top of George’s head, pulling him closer, too. “I’m here.”

The sea is below him. He’s out the water. George gives Dream a watery chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’m crying again.”

Dream laughs. “George, it’s fine. Don’t worry, I still love you. _God,_ I love you so much.”

George’s eyes widen. Dream smiles at him and wordlessly nods.

“Dream...I…” George’s heart fulls to the brim, and he overflows, and overflows, but its the good thing and he waits for it to reach his mouth and spill, but nothing comes out. George almost cries again. But Dream is looking at him with a patient expression. Understanding and so so so kind.

“I…” he starts, but retracts. “I’m not gonna say it now, okay?”

He wants to say it. Because he means it. He loves this boy in front of him so much he couldn’t even begin to describe it. And so, that’s why he won’t say it. He’ll say it the moment he knows the true color of Dream’s eyes. He’ll say it when it’s real. _Not now… But soon._

Dream gives him an overly offended gasp. “Whaaat? Whyyy? No! George, we were having a moment!” He teases, putting his hands on George’s narrow waist and squeezing.

George shakes his head. “Ugh, Dream, Shut up.” He laughs at the other boy’s necks, guilt rising up in his own throat, threatening to just say it now. But instead of opening his mouth, he uses it in another way. He raises his head and places a hand at Dream’s jaw, giving the other boy a soft peck at the bottom of his lips. He parts just as quickly, smiling at the awed expression on the other’s face.

Dream gives him a startled laugh. “What...?”

George full-on cackles. “Oh my god, you looked so dumb. I think I broke you.”

George’s laugh gets stuck on his throat as Dream grabs the side of his face and kisses him. George stares wide-eyed at Dream’s shut eyes for a second, and then he closes his eyes and melts into the kiss. The other boy’s mouth is soft and warm, sending a thousand tingles to run around George’s body. He sighs into the kiss, and tilts his head in another angle to accommodate the boy and Dream makes a sound at that. He pulls George closer, cupping his hand to the back of his head and guiding it in a way that allows the kiss to go deeper. George feels dizzy.

Dream kisses like the sun before dark, dipping warm and slow and hazy. He kisses the curve of George’s upper lip, and then the plump of his bottom one, before coaxing George to open his mouth with a swipe of his gentle tongue. George complies. Opens his mouth. Dream comes in. Languidly, like he isn’t in a rush. Meaningfully, like he has a purpose.

They part when air was getting at the top of their priorities. George doesn’t open his eyes. He basks in the silence that follows. Heart full of so much that he could ever word. He feels Dream lay his forehead on his’.

“George, tell me you love me.” Dream’s voice is a rough whisper, but his words are a gentle plea.

George catches his breath. One. Two. Three. Four. He whispers back, “I will. When we get back, I will, alright?”

Dream says nothing. He opens his eyes.

He expected to see the disappointment in the other’s eyes, but there was only gentle cognizance. George can’t even begin to comprehend how he’s allowed to feel this much for a boy.

“I’m sorry.” George starts, but Dream shakes his head with a small smile. “I’ll wait for you.”

“At the arch?”

“At the arch.”

George closes his eyes at the sweet promise of tryst. _Oh,_ to say those three words. _To mean it_. To embody it.

Because George knows. That he feels the same. He loves. He loves this boy in front of him and for him he’d risk the world. For him, he’d run.

He would hold back offering his heart because the time isn’t right right now. He wants to say it back at a certain point, when a certain promise is met. He’ll say it when he knows for sure that he remembers. He wants to say it so that it’s the last thing he’ll probably say and so his legacy would be his love for a boy that could bring the whole cosmos down to its knees. There is fear. There is doubt. Hell, it might not matter in the grand scheme of the universe but George wants to risk the entirety of it for a split-second of a plethora of emotions aching to be shouted at the top of one’s lungs.

_I love you._

You see, the thing is, it doesn’t matter who pulls the trigger—of who says it first—regardless if the gun is pointed at you or not. When the bullet severely punctures your lungs, you stagger back with the long-awaited release of thawing feelings, frozen at the doubt of no return. With shaking hands stained with blood, you realize that the wound is deep and somehow all those drowsy midnight talks and that cocky wheeze that makes your heart ache with that familiar stab of fondness starts to finally make sense like it had already taken its place deep inside your soul. Somehow, they’ve taken half of you with them when you didn’t even realize you’d given them that much.

Dream kisses him again.

“I wish there was a word stronger than love, George. I wish I could say that to you. I hope you know that.”

Dream exhales.

_Punctured lungs. Thawing feelings. Shaking hands. Cocky wheeze. Half of you._

_For Dream, George would give him whole._

“I do.”

* * *

**Five hours later _,_** a loud hollow thrum rings through the whole city. Each colored light that emanates from every building in Primdise turns off and gives way to dull blue light. What once was a breathing metropolis, with its concrete pavement and tall architectures, with its rich green trees and bright neon signs, with every possible dream and easily attainable want, everything shuts down into a state of moratorium. You could even say that the city is asleep.

George and Dream see it all from the rooftop. Even the building they are standing on doesn’t look real. Instead of the cement and metal railings the top floor of the museum hub is made of, the structure is made up of milli centimeter-sized strings of cerulean-colored code, 1s and 0s, never settling, flitting around as it engulfs the place of what once was there. This, as George looks down on the city, as he looks down to the people below, as he looks down to his own hands that are glitching from flesh to code to flesh again, is proof that everything here is a mere illusion. A ghost. He takes a deep breath. He’s still here. _It’s fine_. He inches closer to the boy beside him, seeking comfort. The boy leans. Their shoulders touch. _It’s going to be fine_. Then, a loud artificial voice—

“T-minus 60 seconds before Return. I repeat, T-minus 60 seconds before Return. Please do not panic. Stay in one place if you can. Side effects of Time Alteration may include, but not limited to: Nausea. Confusion. Disorientation. And Derealization. Remember: You Are Real. Upon return to the real world, there is T-minus 296 seconds before the unnamed element #192 commonly known as oxygen negation takes effect. Remember to…”

The voice fades out in the background as George notices a warm hand snaking from his wrist to his palm. Dream intertwines their hands. George squeezes them back.

“Run as fast as you can, Dream.” he smiles.

“Race you to it?”

He giggles. “I’ll win.”

The boy gives him an arrogant smirk. “You’re not sure about that.”

They laugh in unison. With an easy smile, Dream says, “See you later, George.”

George feels the sudden jump in his chest. This isn’t like their previous _see you later_ ’s, _see you tomorrow_ ’s and _take care, goodbye’_ s. Those feel like they’re unreal now. Frozen in time. A whole eternity of emotion fleeting through a single millisecond. This particular _see you later_ feels like the end. It feels a lot like hope. They’ll see each other soon. They will.

Regardless of the nervous stutter of his heart, George genuinely smiles back. “See you later.”

**_“T-minus 10.”_ **

Dream squeezes his hands firmly.

**_“9_ **

****

**_8_ **

****

**_7,”_ **

****

George takes a deep breath. He thought Dream was confident. But in the last seconds, he could feel through the other’s hands that he’s shaking. George realizes that maybe Dream is afraid as well. The thought oddly comforts him. He’s not alone in this. They’ll run. George rubs his thumb in quiet comfort at the back of Dream’s much larger hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. Dream releases a sigh. Squeezes his hand again.

****

**_“3_ **

****

**_2_ **

****

**_1.”_ **

The world turns black and cold.

Nothing.

* * *

_296_

**Here’s how it ends:**

The world resumes. It ends in less than five minutes.

The world is coming to an end in the way we have already expected it. It is not going to be by an asteroid wiping off the face of the Earth nor a deadly disease causing a worldwide pandemic. It isn’t by a great flood or some divine intervention that stems from thousands of versions of the apocalypse. The cause is so simple. So simple yet so vital. A negation element for oxygen.

It will begin in New York. The city that fell asleep awoke, the pause button hits resume. Spilled coffee seeps into the floor, hair soaring, the drowsy murmur of the city comes back around, the wind returns into restlessness, the sea roaring back into life.

The Deconstruction is in five minutes.

After that limited amount of time, the world is going to crumble. The one-second rot. Everything into dust.

**Here’s how the end goes for George:**

Nothing, and then:

**_Sapnap._ ** _His name was Sapnap._

That was the first thing George remembers thinking upon waking up. He’s confused. Why did he suddenly remember the name of his best friend?

The second thing he realizes is that it’s Wednesday. He doesn’t know why the second thing he had the urge to do was to look down at the date on his phone and see what day it is. It’s Wednesday. Of course, he knows that. But why does it feel like there’s something more?

He looks around. He’s at a coffee shop that he decided to visit earlier— that morning, because the whole month in Primdise only took a few sec— _What_?

He reels. Brows furrowing, he shakes his head in bewilderment. _Where? What’s Primdise?_

He feels a sudden ache in his chest. _What is happening?_

There is a word document open in his laptop in front of him, an unfinished sentence stark against the white background. A few printed handouts litter around his table, the iced tea he ordered beside it, condensation dripping down the glass. His backpack sits comfortably in the empty chair beside him, and George’s mind teeters. He feels disoriented like he had just experienced blacking out. Like he had just missed a step going down the stairs; like there’s a split-second lapse in his memory. A misalignment.

He tries to recall his entire morning. He woke up early, decided to visit a new coffee shop he’d come across last week. He took a bath, brushed his teeth. Went out of the dorm around eight. He read some emails on the way to the coffee shop, one including an email from one of his professors, saying that their morning lecture for today had been cancelled. He brought his laptop, settled to do his paper that’s due in a couple of days. He ordered a drink, sat by the window, and started working. But the few seconds before the now, he feels as if a whole month had passed. _That sentence doesn’t even make sense—_

His eyes widened.

**_Primdise._ **

The third thing he realizes: **he remembers.**

Primdise. The city was called Primdise. A virtual city.

A whole month had passed in a virtual city and now he’s taken back to the real world like no time passed. In a matter of seconds, so much had happened. George feels dizzy as a torrent of emotions and memories whip past him like lights in a car going through a tunnel. He can’t discern which is which. It’s like his brain is being stuffed with too much cotton, too much memories, when he only has too little room, too little frame to fit it. But he accepts the information with unbridled exhilaration, because he remembers.

 _He remembers_ the city, of its glowing lights and tall skyscrapers. Of the possibilities it offers and luxury it provides. He remembers the vague memory of third hallways to the left, of glitching alleyways and bright streets. He remembers green tea and americano. He remembers a rooftop and sunsets. Of late nights and daydreams. Of tens of hours of bore less conversations with a boy he met in that city. A boy who had stars in his eyes and joy in his laugh. A boy who he got to know. A boy that got to know him. A boy that loved him.

 _Dream._ The boy’s name was Dream. He remembers Dream.

George fights back the tears stinging the corner of his eyes.

He looks around at the few people inside the coffee shop, some still look disoriented and confused. Some are crying after probably realizing what’s going to go down in a few minutes. Some had run outside, with intent heavy on their shoulders. With aching desperation.

George takes a glance outside the window and sees where he is.

His eyes widened again. It’s a Wednesday. Classes are cancelled that’s why he’s in a cafe. He’s only a few blocks away from the arch. _He can make it._

He stands up and rushes out. He leaves everything behind; his papers, his laptop, his backpack. He darts past the door in haste, past the people, past the street.

A stunned laugh bubbles out of his lips. George can’t believe it. He’s here. It’s all real.

He remembers.

Dream.

His heart rate spikes up at the thought of seeing the boy in person. Does he look the way he looked in Primdise? Do his eyes really contain the stars? Do they really hold the ocean? Do his freckles really scatter in a wonderful mess across his face? Does his smile actually rival the sun? Does he feel warm just like he did in Primdise? George wonders how he feels like. George wants to know what he tastes like.

He scoffs at the ghost of a hand in his, the memory of lips on his, but doesn’t stop his feet from moving in front of the other. The phone he didn’t realize he was still holding suddenly rings. The name across the screen awes him suddenly, a memory of a conversation that took place in a glitched replica of a certain club room skirting at the edge of his mind. He slows down for a moment to answer it hurriedly.

_242_

“Sapnap.” He greets with unconcealed longing.

 _“George! Where are you?!”_ The thick voice of his best friend filters through the receiver and George almost cries. It might have been only a short while in the real world since he last saw Sapnap, but it certainly felt like an eternity ago. George misses him.

“I’m on my way to square park.” He turns a familiar corner, mildly avoiding people milling around.

 _“I- why?”_ The confusion in his friend’s voice is apparent. George fights the guilt building at the pit of his stomach. He wants to see them, too.

“I met someone.” He replies simply.

 _“Oh.”_ There is nothing discernable in his bestfriend’s tone.

“Karl and Alex?”

 _“They’re with me.”_ Sapnap says, and through the receiver he could hear a faint _‘is that Gogy!?’_ from a very panicked Alex, and a broken _‘where is he?’_ from Karl. George fights the urge to cry.

Sapnap’s voice gets further away from the mic, answering them both. _He’s far. He met someone._

The understanding silence settles from the other line. He could feel their silent sorrow for him. George bites his tongue.

“I’m sorry I can’t come to you.” He settles for saying.

Sapnap is silent for a while. After knowing the boy for years, George knows that the silence doesn’t mean that he’s disappointed at George that he can’t come. George knows that Sapnap is sad for him. Who fights for someone when it’s the end of the world? Knowing his best friend, George is aware Sapnap has a lot to say. The younger boy doesn’t say it.

 _“Nah, dude. We’re at our apartment. It’s too far away. Even if we meet you halfway… You wouldn’t reach us in time. ”_ Sapnap says instead.

“I’m sorry.”

Sapnap chuckles. George could feel him shaking his head. _“George. Don’t be.”_

“Thank you.” he sighs. Then he adds, “I love you guys so much.” A whisper, throat feeling a little too tight.

 _“We do, too.”_ A chorus of aggressive and continuous streams of _I love you’_ s ring from the back of the line painting a fond smile in George’s lips. George could hear Sapnap’s soft laugh directed towards his boyfriends’ loud shenanigans. His heart overflows.

These people are his people. When he’s gone, when they’re all gone, he wishes his love for them could live amidst the skies. He wishes the feeling was eternal.

 _“Run faster now.”_ Sapnap says as goodbye. The line cuts off.

George bites his lips and pushes himself to do as Sapnap had said.

_141_

It’s a beautiful day. The radiant sun bathes the whole world alight. A few light clouds paint the sapphire canvas a gentle ambience, the growing orange haze on one spot feels like a distant dream. How anti-climactic the end is. It isn’t even at sunset. _It isn’t even raining._

Vehicles had stopped in favor of the people talking on their phones. George could hear the loud cries of despair everywhere. The vocalization of sorrow, the sound of the end on all sides.

He could hear the silence. The silence of the people who had long accepted defeat. Who had accepted fate. He could also hear the other side of that misery. Some people run: to hide, to try and survive. Some people attempt to cheat fate. But George takes a look at the sky. From a distance, opposite of the sun, is a tiny hazy cloud of red and orange spreading wider and wider the longer you look at it.

 _‘When the sky burns, that’s when you’ll know it’s the end.’_ were the words of the tour guide of Primdise said.

You can’t cheat fate.

He can see the arch in the distance. George pushes his feet to run faster. He can’t bear to hear their defeat. He can’t allow himself to hear their despair. He can’t. He was once like that. Living with no hope for the grand scheme of things. But not today. Not at this moment. He won’t be swayed because he won’t give up now. He severely wants this to work. For once in his life, he allows himself to have hope in something and he won’t easily let that go.

_132_

He arrives at the park. He looks at the watch on his wrist. There are two minutes more.

Washington Square Park stands in its place like it had always been. Pigeons patrol the ground, unaware of their doom that has yet to come. There are people around, in their own worlds, talking on the phone, talking to each other, but it isn’t quite as many as you would expect in New York City on a Wednesday morning. The arch sits tall in front of George. He stops running.

His eyes move faster than his feet, trying to sight a boy with dirty blonde hair and green eyes that resembles the boy he met in a dream-like land. But there is none. Not yet.

George goes past the fountain. Past the benches. Past the cobblestone path. He approaches the arch. It looms above him like a sanctuary.

He waits.

The ground below him spins as he tries to catch his breath from all the running he’d made.

He waits.

With his hands on his knees, he looks at his worn-out sneakers, wonders that if they had sentience, they’d be complaining because clearly they did not sign up for a distance like that when George put them on that morning.

And waits.

Then, a memory—

_“If I arrive at the arch first, what do I do?” George had asked Dream one sunset during their last week on Primdise. He’s standing at the edge of the rooftop, arms spread wide, paces forward with great trepidation, their whole world possibly falling at the tip of his fingertips._

_Dream doesn’t stop him, but he has a careful hand behind George’s waist._

_“You wait for me there.” The boy shrugs._

_“What if you’re far away and I need to meet you half-way?” George stands on his tip toes once and faces Dream._

_Dream stands in front of him, taking a hold of both his hands. “The arch is our half-way.”_

_“What if I need to run more than that?” George tilts his head down at the boy, his eyes raking all over the other boy’s head as the last of the sun’s arrows pierces softly against his hair. Dream looks ethereal._

_The boy shakes his head. “I’ll make it. Just stay there so I could come to you.”_

_George sits down at the edge. Dream is taller than him again. He reaches up to brush the stray strands of hair away from Dream’s eyes. “That’s not really practical.”_

_Dream holds his wrist and pulls it closer to his mouth. He kisses the inside of it, eyes never leaving George. His eyes burn with the sun, golden flecks swimming across vast green seas._

_“It’s the most practical thing. If you run to where you think I will be, there’s a chance we’ll miss each other because I know I’ll take all the possible shortcuts I could to get to you faster. So stay where we agreed to meet and wait for me, okay?”_

**_I’m waiting._ **

George pulls his phone and clicks it open, not paying attention to the text messages he’s received from everyone he knew and goes through his contacts, scrolling up and down without intent. He can’t believe they’ve promised each other so many things but he doesn’t have Dream’s number.

He turns it off again and pockets it, eyes flying to his wristwatch. There’s still time.

He remembers their plan. He’ll wait for Dream here. Dream will come.

It’s a Wednesday which means Dream has his part time job in a farther part of the city. When they estimated the time, if the boy ran fast enough through the simplest route, he would arrive in 4 minutes and 32 seconds. If there’s traffic, both road and foot, it might take longer. If he could cut through crowd less alleyways, it would take less.

George can’t stop himself from fidgeting foot to foot. He gets right under the arch, in the middle where he could see if anyone is running towards him from all possible directions. Desperation carves the edges of his heart, hope teetering to jump off the ledge. He holds on to it. And waits.

_In Primdise, all you ever want in a simple click! Go live your dreams now!_

George stops. Why did he remember that particular line?

He checks his wrist again.

 _8:21:03,_ it reads.

He looked up and saw that the small orange haze grew and had already taken more than half of what George could see of the sky. George stares at it in horrifying awe. _There it is,_ he thought, _humanity’s end of sovereignty._ George’s irreversible dream-turned-nightmare. A light so bright it almost overpowered the sun.

_In Primdise, we know! All you ever want in a simple click! Thanks to the Code, you can go live your dreams now!_

_Is it really possible for us to have been so close and yet so unreachable?_

_It’s like a miracle that we are even on the same server, George!_

_George, if this was all a dream, then you're the best thing I've ever came up with._

_What I feel here is real. And I promise you, when we come back? We come back to each other, isn’t that right? We will._

George feels his heart leap in his throat at the sudden onslaught of pieced together memories. There’s a ringing in his ears. His chest clenching painfully like it’s being wrung out. There’s nothing running on his mind except the question: _Was Dream even real?_

George collapses on his knees. With a hand clenching his chest, he sees tiny droplets that stain the ground dark. Is it raining? He looks up. Clear skies. The wind kisses his cheeks. It’s wet. He’s crying.

 _“Dream.”_ He whispers, each inhale making it even harder to breathe.

 _Dream. Dream._ It can’t be, right? It’s not possible.

The boy was so… real.

 _But was he really?_ It’s all code. It’s all a program. Being his major, and seeing the city for himself, he unfortunately knows that anything in algorithm could be possible. Who’s to say there’s a limit? Who’s to say it can’t give George _Dream_?

He buries his face in his hands, a rough sob retching out of his body. Dream couldn’t be not real. He felt like he was. He talked like he was. He acted like he was. He existed.

George startles, and hurriedly fetches his phone from his pocket. Dream was a sophomore. _At his university_. Which means there has got to be some sort of record of him.

If… If he was indeed real, there will be a record of him. Right? _Right?_

George turns on the Wi-Fi with haste, opens a browser and types in _cs.nyu.edu;_ his college’s web address. He clicks the People section, goes past the _Faculty, Researchers_ , and various other subsections until it lands on: _Sophomores_. He taps it. The screen loads. The names were alphabetically arranged by surnames.

He doesn’t know Dream’s surname. But still, with hope the only weapon he has against the clock, he scrolls past the tens of names, hoping to see—

George lets go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. _There it is._

At the end of the list, it reads: _Wastaken, Dream._

It’s a hyperlink. George gets redirected to a blog. A short description in simple text format sits at the middle of the page.

_About me: Hi, I’m Dream and a Computer Science major studying at NYU. I also play football. This is boring because admin says keep it PG. Add me on socials!_

George gives it a watery chuckle, because it sounds just like the boy. He scrolls down and there, in a high definition picture, is the face of the boy he fell in love with.

Dream is smiling his arrogant smirk at the camera, their university’s jersey jacket proud against his shoulders. He looks stunning. He looks real.

George sobers up and looks around once again. No sign of the boy.

If the boy is real, then why isn’t he coming?

_Why isn’t he coming?_

George tries to stand up, hand propped against one of the stone pillars in front of the arch.

There is 25 seconds more. It’s fine. It’s okay if George won’t be able to touch him. He just wants to see him. _Please._

_My name’s Dream._

_Hah, pity you, George. I’ve been told I’m hard to get rid of._

_You spent the whole day with me, idiot._

_Are you trying to woo me, Georgie?_

_Goodnight, Gogy._

_It’s because you’re interesting, George. You exceed my expectations._

_It’s the company._

20 seconds. George shuts his eyes tight.

_Do you consider yourself selfish, George?_

_George, I want to see you._

_George, we have five minutes more._

_Let’s meet here, George. In Washington Square Arch._

15 seconds. He falls to the ground and hugs his knees closer to his chest.

_Would you run to me?_

_Everything will be alright. Everything will work out. I’m here, okay? I’m here._

_At the arch._

_I wish there was a word stronger than love, George. I wish I could say that to you. I hope you know that._

_See you later, George._

George hiccups, his quiet sobs turning into agonizing wails. He screams into the void, pained whimpers in staccato as his broken cries of pain echo in every crevice of the world. Tears drown his physical being. There is not a word to describe the excruciating torment that is consuming every part of his body. His heart feels ice cold, his soul turning to ashes. His body feels so cold from the misery he’s becoming numb. _Why isn’t Dream coming? Where is he? Please, where is he?_

George wants to run. He wants to scavenge the Earth for the boy who he longs for, but he stays in his place. Because that was the promise. _That was the promise_. So why is he the only one keeping his end of the deal? Why isn’t Dream here?

_George, tell me you love me._

George breaks. Dream isn’t coming. There’s ten seconds left in the clock.

_I will. When we get back, I will, alright?_

George screams in pain, his heart unable to take any more of the overwhelming feeling.

He is _so_ fucking stupid. George is a fucking moron. Dream isn’t coming. Dream isn’t here.

He’s mad at himself. _Why is he mourning?_

He’s mad at Dream. _Why isn’t he here?_

He’s mad at the universe for putting him in this situation.

His heart aches, bone-deep, burning pain. Why did he not say it back? Why did he have to wait? He doesn’t think the tears will ever stop.

_I will wait for you._

George pauses. He sniffles and takes a deep breath. The last breath he will ever take. His lungs ache. His skin burns. His ears ring. Buildings had started to fall down. The last seconds are up. It’s the end. 

There is no use in being mad. There is no time left. There is no Dream to be found.

But what there is is a promise. George will give him this. He’ll fulfill his part.

He doesn’t want to die in hatred. He doesn’t want to die for nothing.

Because that isn’t what this is all about.

His story is not about anger. Nor loss.

It isn’t about misery and everything in between.

His story is about a boy who loved him.

His story is about a boy who made him hope.

This story is a story about love.

A story of a word more than that.

And so, as the sky erupts into a thousand different tones of blaze and embers and the haze embraces everything in gold, with George’s last breath, he whispers, “ _Dream, I love—”_

An exhale.

The Earth crumbles.

**Here’s how they meet:**

**** **_They don’t._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [song inspo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdkhKkfNPZE) is basically this and then i listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4z1O3miesI) on loop when i was writing the scene before they woke up :}
> 
> if you liked the fic, do consider leaving a comment, id like to hear abt what you think :]


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